


How to Train Your Detective

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Fatlock, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Weight Gain, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is for my amazing and fantastic friend and rp partner. Hope your birthday is spectacular and that you enjoy this fic fill!</p><p>For a Prompt from FatlocknDomJohn: Sherlock Holmes can be really very rude. On the days where he goes a bit too far, John has a tried and true system to bring the detective to heel. Molly Hooper happens to walk in on one of these occasions and gets an idea of her own about how to manage Sherlock's bratty tendancies. It turns out all one needs to deal with Sherlock is a firm tone of voice and a generous offering of food. Soon everyone from Lestrade to Mrs. Hudson is feeding Sherlock to keep him pleasant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lesson 1: Discipline and Feeding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FatlocknDomJohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/gifts).



It was true that Sherlock Holmes could often be rather brash. His comments could be brutal in their honesty or simply intense in their onslaught. Still, it was rare that he actually succeeded in reducing Molly to tears. She understood that he often didn’t realize that his words could cut her to the quick. John had helped a bit. He both seemed to temper Sherlock and offer the needed condolences to anyone subjected to the detective’s rapier of observations. Still, it had been a bad week and his offhand comment on how she must be a bad pathologist indeed to not know exactly how her cat had died last month had been the blow that finally burst the dam.

Her eyes prickling furiously, tears welling, threatening to spill over at any moment, Molly turned in a swirl of white lab coat and shoved past John into the hallway. She bolted to her office and locked the door behind her. She threw herself into her desk chair, had a bit of a sniffle and kicked her trash bin a few times until she calmed down. Molly drew a deep breath and blew her nose, then righted the bin she had knocked over and straightened her lab coat. It was just Sherlock, after all. And she could have performed a necropsy on Toby but that just didn’t seem important. He had been getting on in years. And Molly was a very good pathologist.

Once again composed, Molly Hooper stood and walked back down the hall to the lab where she had left John and Sherlock. It was rather late in the day, as it usually was when Sherlock would sweep in and demand blood samples or body parts, and so the halls had gone rather dark as Bart’s closed down.

She was just planning what to say to John to excuse her rapid retreat, when she heard a loud bang and clatter followed by a smack and a moan that sounded like- oh crumpets! If Sherlock had gotten hurt in a lab he wasn’t even technically allowed to be in, Molly could very easily loose her job. She shuffled quickly up to the lab door and was about to push her way in when she heard something else that made her stop dead.

“Look at you, Sherlock. Rude and greedy. What am I supposed to do with a complete hog like you?” Another loud smack, and something that sounded remarkably like a squeal. Was that? It had to be John but… oh dear. Molly had seen John angry before but she never would have thought him capable of-

“Y-yes Captain! Such a hog! A rude and greedy hog!” Sherlock wailed. Molly felt herself blushing bright red but her feet seemed pasted to the floor.

“Maybe I can teach you some manners,” John continued, his tone crisp and firm and deep. He walked past the dark window of the door Molly was watching through but didn’t see her. He was shirtless, the fluffy jumper discarded to reveal nothing but strong lines of hard muscles under tan skin. Molly felt her mouth go a bit dry. John picked up a box from one of the lab benches. It looked rather like the big box of doughnuts leftover from the break room.

“Come here,” John growled, tucking his chin down, beckoning with his fingers as he set the box down on the exam table. Sherlock waddled over from the other side of the room obediently. Molly blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Waddle was exactly the right word. The almost inhuman paleness of his skin had become flushed and pink The usually impeccable curls were a mess, the hard cold eyes were huge and dark, the firm line of his mouth was gone.. Instead the man’s lips were parted, his tongue wetting them as he crossed the room. And it wasn’t Sherlock’s normal powerful stride, his steps were slow and hesitant, almost lazy, his stance wide to balance the pale bloated belly arching out over the hem of his trousers. If Molly had been in disbelief before, she was now certain that she was experiencing some sort of hallucination. Sherlock Holmes looked pregnant. His belly was distended quite heavily from under his slender rib cage. His belly fought visibly with the buttons of his shirts, skin squashing out between them, his navel looking stretched and tight. 

“J-John please… I’m so full-“

“Course you are,” John murmured, closing the distance to the detective and shoving him onto the exam table. The motion caused Sherlock to release a loud belch as he sat. The usually fierce detective was watching John with wide eager eyes.

“So fucking rude, Sherlock,” John rumbled, jabbing at his bloated belly, and the detective shivered and nodded. 

“Open,” John directed, lifting a large sugary doughnut from its box. Sherlock obeyed, plush pink lips parting and allowing John to shove the doughnut into his mouth. He chewed sluggishly then swallowed and leaned back, belly gurgling audibly even through the door. 

“Can’t-“

“Sh,” said John, reaching down and beginning to undo Sherlock’s shirt buttons. “You just need a bit more room. Keep eating.” The tortured clothing sprang apart almost as soon as it was released. The mass of swollen belly sank almost visibly as John undid the man’s trouser button. Sherlock groaned, his head lolling, his big fat belly rounding into his lap as he continued to chew and swallow. 

“Good boy,” John praised, smoothing a hand over Sherlock’s navel. “Apologize.”

“M’ sorry,” Sherlock mumbled, almost too softly for Molly to hear.

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being so rude and greedy,” Sherlock amended, now visibly panting as John’s hand began to slowly shift and rub over his overfull belly. “S-So sorry.”

“You’ll apologize to Molly tomorrow morning. In person,” John growled, crowding into Sherlock’s space, his other hand squeezing at Sherlock’s thigh. 

“Y-yes, John,” Sherlock whimpered, spreading his legs and then wrapping them around the shorter man’s hips. 

“Good,” the ex-army doctor rumbled, kissing and nibbling at Sherlock’s neck, “Have another doughnut.”

Molly realized her mouth was open and that things were likely to become very personal and private very soon. She closed her mouth and hurried off as quietly as she could as soft sounds of rhythmic grunting and thumping signaled Sherlock obtaining his reward. 

Molly sat down quickly back in her office, still blushing wildly. She knocked a few papers off of her desk and swore politely at them before settling herself in front of her computer and trying to do a few hospital forms rather than thinking of what was happening on her exam table. That would need a good clean in the morning. Though John was a doctor himself so he knew- Molly quickly thought of something else as a hot and muscular, thrusting and very naked John Watson suddenly popped into her mind. Well. It had rather given her an idea in regards to managing Sherlock’s rudeness. She would have to try implementing it tomorrow. Just stop by his favorite chippy on the way to work and… yes. Worth a try at least.

 

As it happened, Sherlock did arrive at the morgue the next morning to apologize. Molly had to do her best not to blush as she accepted it. Before long however, Sherlock was back to his old tricks, trying to get yet another liver or gallbladder out of her. Now once or twice she could write it off as a fluke, but twice in one week?

“Sorry Sherlock, but I really can’t give you-“

“Molly…” Sherlock rumbled, giving her just the right look. But she would not melt today. 

“I said no. Sherlock,” Molly repeated firmly, trying to copy the tone that she had heard John use, a tone that wasn’t louder or harsher, but one that clearly expected that it would be obeyed. She kept her gaze level and tipped up her chin. “Not for the rest of the month. Understood?”

Sherlock had frozen the moment Molly had spoken. She saw the second that it worked. Sherlock’s cheesy grin sank and his lips parted. He blinked a few times.

“I-yes, ca- yes, Molly,” Sherlock responded, dipping his head slightly in submission, eyes slipping to his shoes. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Quite alright,” said Molly primly, her mind racing as she realized what she had just done. Oh. Wow. She managed to pick up the basket of chips beside her without her hands shaking too badly. She lifted one of them up, hot fresh and greasy and pressed it into Sherlock’s mouth. He chewed it slowly.

“Good. Here. Have these.”

Sherlock accepted the large basket of chips and munched through them quite happily. He was utterly pleasant for the rest of his visit. Molly was going to have to continue this new method of interaction. She’d just have to pick him up a little treat before going to work every day. Maybe she could keep something extra in the refrigerator in case of a surprise visit.

And so she did. Before long the refrigerator at Saint Bart’s hospital was well stocked and practically overflowing with Sherlock’s favorites. Little cakes and packs of biscuits or crisps were stowed here and there, ready to be seized and shoved into Sherlock’s mouth as a reward for following her directions. Soon it seemed almost as if Sherlock had become an overlarge puppy, eager to please Molly and get a treat for his troubles. That impression was rather confirmed when one day, the detective’s stomach started to growl the moment he set foot in Molly’s morgue. He was hardly rude anymore and was far more polite when it came to asking for organs or blood samples. Oftentimes they perhaps went a little over board. Molly was willing to give Sherlock another pack of biscuits if he asked politely. That was part of his ‘training’ after all so she didn’t see the harm. Although nowadays, Sherlock often left the morgue burping softly with a hand on the swell of his stomach.


	2. Lesson 2: Making a Claim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets more than a little jealous as all of Scotland Yard takes to feeding Sherlock.
> 
> Again, this story is for my dear friend FatlocknDomJohn :)

Molly wasn’t the only one who took advantage of this new insight into Sherlock Holmes. One day when she was having lunch with Greg Lestrade, Molly let it slip that the key to managing Sherlock was a firm commanding reprimand followed by food. She had been giggling about it when she noticed that Greg suddenly looked thoughtful. Sure enough, the very next time Sherlock came in after visiting a crime scene, he was sporting powdered sugar around his lips and a full belly. 

From there, word only spread. As did various parts of Sherlock’s anatomy. Several members of the Yard began offering Sherlock food at every opportunity, apparently only having gotten half the story. Still, the no longer quite so lanky detective ate the offerings happily even as John frowned a bit in the background. Even Mrs. Hudson had picked up on the secret. Now whenever Sherlock was being particularly stroppy or destructive, she baked him a cake. Granted, he didn’t have to eat the whole thing in one sitting. He often did, though. John would come home to find his lover snoring on the sofa and covered in icing and crumbs, hands folded atop a now quite expansive belly that slowly rose and fell with his deep breaths. 

Sherlock hadn’t simply gotten chubby or even fat off of all the food everyone in London was suddenly shoving in his face. No, the detective had positively ballooned. Slim arms and legs had puffed up until they made his seams scream. A narrow waist had expanded into thickly rolled sides, complete with love handles that sat atop new voluptuous hips that seemed to be constantly spilling out over his trouser band in a truly ample muffin top. His poor tailor hardly knew how to fashion trousers that could contain, much less minimize the giant quivering arse that bowed out behind Sherlock wherever he went, jiggling with his steps. Sherlock’s concave little tum had swelled and swelled until it became a proper gut that hung over his waistband, rippling gently with any quick motions. And it was always hungry for more. A bony chest had suddenly bloomed into two soft malleable breasts. His chin had doubled. His cheeks plumped. The most astonishing change, however, was arguably Sherlock’s disposition. He was growing almost jolly as he continued to gain and soften from all the treats. Though, he was still rather blunt or rude from time to time.   
Such as a rather memorable day when Sherlock had pointed out to the weeping victim’s girlfriend that she needn’t be so upset because the victim had been cheating on her since the day they met anyway. John had been about to correct Sherlock sharply, but before he got the chance, Greg had barked out an authorative “Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to continue speaking, “Honestly, I’m just being kind! Susana clearly never really cared for her any-urp!”

The fattened detective fell silent, his posture slouching and submitting instantly as Greg took hold of his collar and yanked him away from the now bawling girlfriend. John hesitated, then decided to try to comfort the girl, even as he felt something hot and sick churning in his own stomach. He overheard Greg talking sternly to Sherlock, rather like a father scolding a son.

“Sherlock, we’ve talked about this,” said Greg, his tone colored with just the right amount of disappointment, “How are you supposed to question friends and family of the deceased?”

Sherlock mumbled something, letting out a small yelp as Greg shook him slightly by the collar. 

“Ay?”

“Politely and… and patiently. Try not to upset them further,” Sherlock answered, his voice small and soft as he looked at Greg with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking-“

“Good,” said Greg, pulling a doughnut seemingly out of nowhere and stuffing it roughly into Sherlock’s mouth. “You go and apologize then.”

Sherlock grunted around the mass of food in his mouth and ambled back over to the young crying woman. 

“My apologies,” he said, dipping his head, before getting back to business. John folded his arms, frown deepening. Greg gave him a smile and a thumbs up. John returned the smile rather stiffly.

 

They left the scene an hour or so later, Sherlock munching on yet another doughnut as a reward for a case well solved. His stomach gurgled.

“Din-“

“No, we’re going home,” said John curtly.

“But, John-“

“Home.”  
Sherlock sulked visibly during the entire cab ride home, but John didn’t pay him any mind. That hot sickish feeling was still roiling deep beneath his six pack of abs. The captain waited for Sherlock to leave the cab, to pant up the steps, to get inside their flat, then he pounced. John crushed Sherlock’s now much larger and much softer figure up against the wall, grinding his hips into that big fat arse. 

“You’re mine,” John growled, “No one else’s!”

“J-Joh-oooh yes!” Sherlock responded, flattening himself obediently against the wall. “All yours. All of me!”

“Every inch of this big fat arse,” John agreed, giving one of Sherlock’s rippling buttocks a solid smack that made the detective keen. He hadn’t minded the weight gain, in fact both Sherlock and himself absolutely adored it, but seeing someone else dominate his lover. No. Absolutely not. 

John shoved his still clothed cock hard against Sherlock’s plump thigh and snaked his hands up to cup the man’s soft breasts, pinching the nipples that stood out against the fabric of his shirt.

“Say it again! Who do you belong to?”

“Jooooohn!” Sherlock wailed, rutting back into his captain in response. John rumbled appreciatively and stretched up to kiss and suck on Sherlock’s neck.

“Yeah… yeah,” John gasped between pants. His hands moved down to undo Sherlock’s trousers, then he shoved his own aside impatiently. “Lube.” He grunted. 

“Coat,” Sherlock gasped in response, shuddering as he recalled the fantasy that had led to him stowing a packet of it in one of his coat pockets. Granted, it had involved a back alley after a case rather than the flat, but Sherlock was quite happy to improvise. John flung Sherlock’s coat off the hanger and attacked it, turning out the pockets before finding the lubricant and slotting himself up against Sherlock again.

The detective moaned his encouragement as John prepared him, the doctor feeling his arousal build and build as he slid a hand between those two fat jiggling globes to get him ready. Then they were fucking, John grunting as he pounded into Sherlock’s big fat arse again and again, his mouth marking and sucking on every pinch and roll of flesh he could reach. He felt Sherlock’s belly jiggling heavily against his hand as he reached around to bring him off. They were spent in moments, shuddering and gasping as they came down again. John managed to guide Sherlock to the sofa on wobbly legs. They both crashed onto it with low groans, the frame giving a small groan of its own to protest the added weight. John held Sherlock close and was just about to drift off for a quick post coital nap when Sherlock spoke.

“Not that I don’t love being fucked against the wall, but may I ask what brought this on?” he asked, tone low and lazy, eyes still shut.   
John felt rather foolish. He shrugged. “Nothing… just… nothing. Solved a case.”

“Was it Gavin?”

“Who?”

“Greg.”

John blinked and Sherlock chuckled, the sound rumbling up from deep in his cavernous belly. 

“You were jealous,” he said simply.

“I- what? No… “

“John… You know there is no one else on this entire planet that I want to plow me besides you,” Sherlock continued lazily.

“I… know. I was being stupid. I guess I thought the feeding thing was our bit,” John admitted. Sherlock gave him a squeeze. 

“Of course it is,” Sherlock rumbled, “I would never have gotten this fat without your assistance. Just look at me. I could be mistaken for a mountain.”

John laughed and gave Sherlock’s belly a few pats. “Sorry,” he added, “For getting jealous like that.”

Sherlock gave a small smile, eyes still closed and dozy. “I don’t mind. As long as you remember that I am yours and yours alone.”

“Course,” said John, cuddling up to his lover further. “And I’m all yours.”

Sherlock chuckled and let out a long happy sigh. “Hm… we should get married.”

“Yeah, alright,” John laughed.

“I was being serious.”

“I know.”

“Good,” purred Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his John, “We can call the caterers in the morning. I’m imagining an extravagant buffet…”

“Oh? And what are our guests going to eat?” John teased, mouthing gently at Sherlock’s soft jawline.  
Sherlock smirked. “Whatever you don’t manage to feed me first.”


End file.
